


Actions Speak Louder

by electricblueninja



Series: The Five Love Languages [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: Dean runs, but can't hide.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: The Five Love Languages [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988281
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Actions Speak Louder

I had every intention of going through with it, I swear. I was at least going to _try_. 

Anything to see Cas happy. To see that smile from my dream in real life.

But when it was the three of us around the table, I couldn't do it. Not after what Sam said. I had to leave the room before I punched him in the face. He'd deserve it, too. He started this crapfest. 

Yeah, I know I’m being immature, and a coward. I know that avoidance is not going to work as a long-term strategy. And I know that going straight from the library to Sam's room to steal the stupid book that kicked all this off is even stupider than Sam's stupid stupidness, but I do it anyway. 

I guess I got curious.

I don't really buy into all that touchy-feely self-help crap. That's Sam's schtick. But he gave the book to Cas, and _Cas_ read it. And if this is all Sam's stupid book's fault, then to understand what the hell is going on, I'll have to read it. I need to know what kinds of screwy ideas he's put in Cas' head.

I take the book back to my room and spend ten minutes staring at the front cover. Eventually, I open it and start to flick through, stopping when a word or phrase catches my attention. But before I even get past the contents pages, I've hit a phrase so dumb that it makes me snap the book shut and throw it across the room. 

'Love tank'. 

Yep, that's right: _Love tank_. As in, 'Is your love tank full?'. Who the hell comes up with this crap?

But after sitting here with my arms crossed for five minutes, I retrieve the book and try to uncrumple the pages. I've gone to the effort to steal it, so I might as well look at it. And according to the cover, it's a _New York Times_ bestseller. If it's sold that many copies, there must be _something_ in it that's not total bullshit.

Still, it's insane that this was Sam's go-to to help Cas with his 'people skills'. Surely there are better options than a book on marriage counselling. I mean, Cas isn't married. Sure, maybe _Jimmy_ was, but _Cas_ isn't. In fact, none of us is in any kind of relationship at the moment, so I don't see how a book about fixing failing marriages is relevant to any of us at all. 

I'm not ready to try reading it again yet, but on its cover the book's got a sticker advertising an online 'Love Languages quiz', so I decide to do that instead. And the second I get to the website I'm definitely not comfortable with the amount of purple I'm seeing. But I've started now, so I click my way into the ‘Singles Edition’ and feed in my details.

Better be worth it.

The questions are all 'would you rather', and responding to them makes me kind of uncomfortable. It’s not that they're hard to answer or anything; it’s just that it’s hard to apply the phrase ‘someone I love’, which appears in all of them, to anyone other than Sam or…or Cas. I can’t sidestep the fact that apart from my brother, there’s no one alive more important to me than an angel with an ugly beige trenchcoat and no social skills. 

I mean, obviously there’s Mom, and Dad, and Bobby, and all the other friends we’ve found along the way--there are other people I _care_ about. 

But I don't care about them like I care about Cas. 

"Shit, Cas," I mutter to the empty room, "what _about_ friends, man?" 

I couldn't have answered his question even if I'd wanted to.

And for every pair of these stupid questions, nine times out of ten I end up clicking on an answer which reminds me of something to do with him.

Eventually, Dr Douchebag diagnoses my love languages as

  1. Acts of service, and 
  2. Physical touch.



Sounds like a loud of bull to me. I mean, ‘acts of service’ just sounds kinda dirty. And anyway, Cas doesn't really touch me.

Sometimes I kind of wish he _would_ , you know. Touch me. But he's all eyes, no hands; at least, that's how he is with me. He's always looking at me, looking out for me, watching over me, and I don't understand _why._ If he'd just _touch_ me instead of staring all the time, then at least I might maybe be able to…

...Oh. 

...Understand him better. 

"Stupid. This is so stupid." I rest my head in my hands, waiting for the sickening storm in my stomach to settle. "God help me."

I leave the bunker first thing in the morning. Pack a couple of bags and head to Iowa. I need to _do_ something, and this is something I _can_ do. Saving people. Hunting things.

The first and second days I'm gone, between Cas and Sam I end up with seventeen missed calls and about forty-six unread texts. I don’t bother checking what they said. I just flick back two words to each of them-- _I’m fine_ \--and then turn my main cell off completely. And then all my burners too.

The job in Iowa takes four days. After that's done, I read a headline about some weird shit up in Montana, so that’s where I go next. This time it's even quicker: I find it, I gank it. Easy. If only everything else was that simple.

Since I'm in the area, I decide to reward myself with a few nights in a safehouse down by a lake I know. I stock up on beer and bacon and eggs and all the other stuff Sam would judge me for eating if he was here.

Yep, it'll be good to be alone in the woods. I can eat and drink and sit on the pier pretending to fish. I can have my own Walden.

I'm glad I got away. I needed to be by myself. To think. To breathe. And it's peaceful out here. No Sam. No Cas. Just me and baby and classic rock mixes. We're okay. We’re good. Everything’s okay.

I'm casting a line into the lake when I accidentally summon him. I don't know how. Okay, fine, that's a lie. I was looking at the lake and the sky and it made me think of his dumbass big blue eyes and I must have thought his name too hard or felt too many feelings in his direction or some shit. Whatever I did, it was enough for him to get a line on me, because all of a sudden I can feel him there at my side. I know he's there because suddenly I feel...I don't know. Safe.

He doesn't say anything, so I pretend not to notice him. He waits a little while, but eventually breaks the silence.

"Hello, Dean. We were worried about you."

I feel my lip curl with annoyance as I turn to look up at him. "Who's we?" I ask, even though it's completely unnecessary. 

"Sam and I. We've been trying to contact you all week. Have you been avoiding us, Dean?"

_Sam and I. We. Us._ I feel the anger that brought me out here in the first place rekindling in my chest.

I guess those coals haven't cooled off yet, after all.

I grunt and reach for my beer. Beer is good. Beer is friend. Beer means I don't have to try and make words.

I pass one back towards Cas, too, though I refuse to look at him.

The cool weight of the bottle is lifted from my hand eventually, and Cas steps forward to stand at my shoulder.

"Thank you. And I'm...glad that you're safe."

There's another long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the water lapping at the pier, before Cas speaks again.

"Dean...Sam and I have had several...important conversations...in your absence. And you and I...well, uh...I...we need to talk."

_Here it comes._

"Alright, look, Cas. Let me stop you there. I heard you and Sam, that night."

Cas looks down at me, his brow furrowed.

"I heard you talking to him, Cas. I heard him asking, and I heard you go into his room, and look, I'm not...I'm not judging, okay? I know I might not seem like the kind of guy who gets it, but...I do. I get it."

"Dean, I don't understand."

"Look, you have feelings for Sam, okay? And it's...it's fine."

"That's not--Dean, I--"

"Cas, it's _fine_ \--"

"You're not listening to me. Dean, I--"

"You don't have to explain. Actually, maybe it's better if you don't. Just...go back to him. Leave me here. Please. I need some peace."

Cas places the beer on the ground at his feet, and falls silent.

I feel him disappear. His absence is sudden and absolute; like a part of my soul has just up and gone.

"Good talk," I mutter to the uncaring lake.

Then, just as suddenly, I feel another shiver in the fabric of reality as Cas returns.

This time, he stands right at the edge of the pier, side-on from me, looking into the water. His profile is gilded by the late afternoon sun, and I don't know if I want to cry or kill myself at the thought of losing him. Of him loving someone else.

Against the glare, I realise that he's holding something.

He turns his head to look at me, and holds it aloft.

It's the book.

"I was looking for this," he says, "after you left. I thought it might help me understand why you just...You took it from Sam's room, right? And took it to the job with you."

There's a long pause, in which I make myself very busy with my fishing line.

"It was in your car, Dean," Cas adds, and his tone is weird. I can't tell what he's getting at--what does he mean? He sounds kind of judgy, but also...amused? Accusing?

I'm too embarrassed to reply. I look up from the line again, though, to find Cas staring at me, his expression contemplative.

"Dean," he says, "I do not think this book can be of any further use." 

Then, his eyes still fixed on me, he slowly and deliberately unfurls his arm to frisbee it out into the lake. 

I hear it splash in the distance, but I can't drag my eyes away from his. I feel like I'm pinned to the spot by two big stupid soulful blue javelins.

It's Cas who moves. In a couple of purposeful strides, he closes the distance between us. My instincts call this movement a threat, and they're still working well enough that I scramble to my feet and start backing away, but I'm not fast enough. One of his hands grips my shoulder, right where the scar still twinges sometimes, and his other hand is on the back of my neck, and--

He's kissing me.

_He's kissing me._

**Author's Note:**

> If folks want a smutty follow-up, let me know in the comments below.


End file.
